


What we Find in the Inbetween Places

by natcat5



Series: Dark Month 2015 [6]
Category: Pandora Hearts
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Gen, Urban Magic AU, mermaid au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-06
Updated: 2015-10-06
Packaged: 2018-04-25 05:17:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4948120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/natcat5/pseuds/natcat5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At an empty gas station on the side of the road, a few miles out from the nearby university town, he finds a merman sitting in a cracked and dirty plastic bin, using the hose from the nearby car washdown to fill it with water. </p><p>It is not the strangest thing Leo has found in dodgy half-abandoned gas stations, but it is the most bad-tempered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What we Find in the Inbetween Places

**Author's Note:**

> considering how much I love Pandora Hearts, and Leo and Elliot in particular, it's amazing that it's taken me this long to write fanfic for it.

\--

At an empty gas station on the side of the road, a few miles out from the nearby university town, he finds a merman sitting in a cracked and dirty plastic bin, using the hose from the nearby car washdown to fill it with water.

It is not the strangest thing Leo has found in dodgy half-abandoned gas stations, but it is the most bad-tempered.

\--

Elliot was not supposed to be born a merman.

It was a very, very recessive gene in the family. Traced back to some distant relative who married a half-merman far below her station. But ‘Folk’ lineage was always tenacious and unpredictable. If someone married a faerie or a satyr you could never be sure when hooves or wings might pop up on a cousin or niece, as far as five or six generations down the line.

While this is general knowledge, it still took everyone a bit by surprise when the youngest child of the Nightray family popped out with gills and no feet to speak of.

It was, in fact, a bit of a scandal. The Nightray Family was one of the houses tasked with policing the Folk and monitoring their interactions with humans. They’d never been quite subtle about their bigotry, through the years, and some snidely commented that having a merman born to them was a form of karma.

Once everyone got over the shock, it was generally accepted to be not as horrible a situation as it could have been. After all, Elliot was the youngest of four, with three completely human heirs preceding him. It was a shame, but not a terrible misfortune.

And to make matters better, he grew out of it. As sometimes happened with finicky Folk attributes, at age nine his tail split into legs and he walked for the first time, gills and scales disappearing as if they had never been there at all.

Or, at least, that was the official story.

\--

 _This,_ Leo thinks sourly, _is exactly what I was trying to avoid._

He did not, after all, make a point of stopping at decrepit, dubious looking gas stations at the side of the road. They were hotbeds of mischief and surprises, more often then not harbouring portals or gateways to other dimensions or inbetween places. Abandoned spots along major travel routes seemed to be ripe for that. Worse, exiled faeries sometimes set up shop in places like these, leading lost, weary travellers into their urban glens and ensnaring them.

No, Leo did not make a point of stopping at half-abandoned gas stations on the side of the road. He had done so today only because he hadn’t wanted to stop for gas while he was driving through the nearby town. The city built up around that prestigious university, with all of its wealthy, privileged students, and all of their blue-blooded derision, disdain, pigheadedness, and utter lack of self-awareness. Leo would rather deal with a rogue fairy any day.

And yet, here he finds himself, with one of those privileged, rich students at his feet. Sitting in a bucket, tailfin hanging over the edge and dragging against the pavement. He’s wearing a shirt from the university, which is how Leo’s identified him as a student so easily. But even without it, that expression on the man’s face, stubborn, proud, and haughty, even while on his ass in a bucket, is enough to identify him as being from Lutwidge.

They have a bit of a stare off, the student obviously trying not to look pitiful and ridiculous, and Leo staring back, trying to communicate with the judgment and mocking nature of his stare that the student is, in fact, utterly pitiful and ridiculous. The student squares his jaw and glares harder, arms folded across his chest. Leo raises an eyebrow, unimpressed, and smugly amused.

There is a standoff, in which the student refuses to ask for help, and Leo refuses to offer it. He can’t bring himself to feel to sorry for the man at all. Not when he probably arrived in the bucket via drunken hazing and the stupidity of the privileged gone wild. Not when being enrolled in Lutwidge means his watch is probably worth more than Leo’s car.

It’s the student who makes a sound, finally. Exhaling heavily through his nose and unfolding his arms to grip the sides of the bin tightly.

“I don’t need help,” he begins, forcefully.

Leo barely resists the urge to roll his eyes. “Really?” he responds, voice flat, “That’s a relief. I didn’t want to give it.”

There’s really no reason for him to spend his morning wrestling with some entitled brat’s inflated pride. If he’s not asking, Leo’s not bothering. So he turns on his heel and walks away.

There’s a tiny part of him, really deep down, that feels a little bad at turning his back, but he’s not going to offer his help if the student doesn’t ask for it. He’s not the one in a bucket, and he’s not the one who needs to swallow his pride.

Still, he hazards a look over his shoulder, after he’s gone several paces across the lot. The student is…shrunk down on himself. Arms wrapped around, tail pulled tight against his body. He looks…impressively pitiful.

Dammit.

Leo walks back, sourly. His smug amusement has faded into bad temper, and he glares when he reaches the student in the bucket again.

“Have you called someone?” he snaps, because if someone’s coming for him, Leo doesn’t need to bother, and can leave with a clear conscience.

The student tenses, jaw working beneath his skin. “No. I can’t.”

“You don’t have your phone with you?” Leo demands, incredulous.

The student looks up a little, lifting his hunched shoulders. He clearly doesn’t like Leo’s tone. “I have it, I can’t use it. I can’t call anyone.”

“It’s not charged?”

“I _can’t call anyone!”_ Snaps the student, body shaking the bin so that water sloshes over the sides. Then he seems to recoil a little, shoulders hunched again.

“No one…” he sets his jaw stubbornly again, avoiding Leo’s gaze, “No one knows about this. That I’m…”

Oh. Well _that’s_ interesting. A dozen questions pop up with that answer. How does one conceal the fact that one’s a merman? You can’t, legally. But Leo, coming from where he does, knows that there’s more than one illegal answer to that question. And if the merman’s from Lutwidge, that illegal answer is probably saturated with hidden deals, coverups, and a hell of a lot of money.

No wonder he doesn’t want to call anyone like this. Leo’s not sure who he is, but if he’s at Lutwidge, he’s _someone._ Meaning the scandal for something like this coming out would probably be enormous.

It’s probably better if Leo doesn’t get involved.

“Well, I’m not interested in standing here,” he says bluntly, “If you have a phone but don’t want to call anyone, that’s your business. I’m not driving into town either, so I can’t drive you back. Not that I’m offering,” he adds quickly, “But if you’re social standing requires you to stay sitting in that bucket to avoid a scandal, there’s nothing I can do about it.” He shrugs. “So I’m going to go.”

The ensuing flicker of panic in the student’s eyes makes Leo feel more annoyed then anything, and he backs up a little, eyes narrowed.

“There _is_ something you can do,” says the student, eyes suddenly brightening with some new idea that’s probably going to ruin Leo’s entire day.

He gets the distinct impression he’s made a terrible mistake.

\--

It was Duke Nightray’s idea.

The treatment was experimental. A spell, offered by some prodigy witch with a PhD in genetics. Its purpose was to isolate the Folk gene, and quarantine it, effectively shutting off its effects on the body. The spell only needed to be cast once every three years, but maintained through a specially brewed potion taken every month. And if all the correct procedures were followed, then Elliot’s tail would disappear, and he’d be human like the rest of his family.

It was a secret, not to be revealed outside of the house. The treatment had yet to be ratified by the usual channels, and the no one wanted to deal with the media backlash of a forced conversion to renounce Folk heritage. The Nightrays may have a whispered reputation of being anti-Folk, but any decisive action confirming prejudice would be a public relations nightmare.

So it was a secret. And when Elliot emerged in public for the first time with legs, walking, Duke Nightray was sure to have a panel of doctors and geneticists with essays and studies reminding everyone that sometimes, Folk attributes did fade away when children began transitioning into adolescence.

(that was almost exclusively when the Folk traits were caused by curses or parents making dubious deals with the Fae or Hex Witches, but no one mentioned that)

Everyone swore he had just grown out of it, grown out of fins and into legs. His brothers swore it, his sister swore it, and his mother, while sullenly silent, did not deny it.

Elliot, for his part, was glad to no longer be the odd one out. Was glad that he could kick a ball around with his brothers, when they had the time. Was glad that he could go outside without being stuck in a modified wheelchair. That he was allowed to attend family events, that he didn’t have to be hidden away; an embarrassment.

It didn’t matter that sometimes his side ached, where his gills used to be. That sometimes he felt like he couldn’t breathe, that his chest was caving in. That sometimes his legs started to throb, that he had to sit down and massage them. That they’d seize up, and refuse to work.

And as the years passed, it didn’t matter that he had to take the potion twice a month to keep his legs from beginning to re-fuse. Then three times a month. Then weekly. It was too important that Elliot remain human. That he remained a viable child of the Nightray house, and not an embarrassment.

It was hard, and it hurt, but it was manageable. He was strong, and had the family name to uphold.

Elliot enrolls in Lutwidge Academy, as is expected of him, and packs enough of the potion to last him for the months until Winter Vacation.

It’s not enough.

Maybe it’s the stress of leaving home. Maybe it’s the alcohol and general discord and party atmosphere of Fresher’s Week, but his system burns through the potions like they’re nothing. His legs cramp up daily, and he finds himself skipping out on orientation events, soaking in the bathtub of his dorm room and trying not to dwell on how much easier it is to breathe when submerged in water.

By the time classes have started, he’s down a third of his potion cache, and calling home reveals that the witch is away on whatever it is that Hex witches do when they’re not developing experimental treatments, and cannot be reached.

“It’s too much,” his mother frets, “You need to come home.”

Elliot disagrees. His mother frets louder. His sister is handed the phone, and she screams at him, calls their demanding father several rude names, and _orders_ him to come home.

Elliot doesn’t take it. He hangs up in a huff, angry at them, angry at himself, angry at his stupid genes and stupid tail, and angry that it looks like he’s headed back to where he was ten years ago. No independence, no standing in the family, and no damn legs.

One of his adopted brothers call. Gilbert, who is awkward and embarrassing but always genuine. He tells Elliot that he doesn’t have to drop out of school, but that he should come home for the upcoming long weekend, at least, and that they can all discuss how to move forward from there.

Elliot wavers. It still feels too much like giving in.

His legs twinge painfully, and he watches darkly as a patch of skin on his calf begins to turn blue and scale over.

Elliot agrees.

He’s set to leave Friday morning, a bus to the airport, and then once he lands, a chauffeur to take him to his family home.

But Thursday night, his Hall holds an event that he can’t afford to miss. People always mock the university society, the wild parties and crazy hazing rituals, but they all forget that most major politicians and business owners came from these fraternities, endorsed them, and looked for potential interns and successors among them. To be an elite in society and _not_ join a fraternity at Lutwidge would be nothing short of idiocy. Even if most of the early-semester initiations that the frat itself engaged in seemed to be a new tier of idiocy unto itself.

So he takes a potion Thursday evening, heads out with the rest of his dorm, attends meetings, goes to a party, and then gets informed they’ll be participating in an impromptu initiation ritual at some wee hour of the morning.

This involves all the Freshers getting dropped off at random places in the area surrounding the city, and being told to find their own way back. No calling taxis allowed. Which wouldn’t have been a problem, really. It wasn’t that far a walk.

Unless your system chooses that moment to reject a certain spell and potion entirely, and leave you on your ass in the dust, with a newly sprouted tail, gasping, and rapidly becoming dehydrated.

Elliot guesses he should count himself lucky for being dropped off somewhere close to a gas station. He’d managed to reach it before the sun came up. Crawling there had been humiliating, but at least he hadn’t dried out from lack of water.

He could have done without being found by the scruffy, smug-looking out-of-towner with the huge glasses while he sits on his ass in a dirty plastic bin, however.

\--

It would be too easy to leave the man here.

It’s not like someone wouldn’t find him. He _does_ have his cellphone with him, in the pair of pants that sit discarded beside him. He just doesn’t want to use it, doesn’t want anyone from the university to see him like this.

And it’s _not_ any of Leo’s business. Not in the slightest. He’s just a novice beast summoner, travelling across the country in the crappy car he inherited from his dead parents and doing odd jobs to pay for gas. Getting wrapped up in the stupid, convoluted, and complicated world of the upper class isn’t something he can afford, or something he _wants._

Again, it bears stressing, that Leo purposefully _avoided_ the university town for _specifically_ this reason.

Well, that and the fact he finds students of Lutwidge to be insufferable, and really didn’t want to deal with any of them.

So he’s just winning on all fronts at this point. Because for reason’s he can’t quite fathom, he’s agreed to drive a Lutwidge student his family home, about a day’s drive away. Unfortunately, in the same direction Leo was already headed, giving him no good reason to refuse.

As a beast summoner, Leo’s vehicle is outfitted with certain upgrades and compartments that make it easier to transport non-human individuals. He’s able to fold down the passenger seat and the seat behind it, then press them downwards further, until there’s a watertight compartment there. That fills with water, and then the back seat goes up, submerged to the middle.

Elliot, the student’s name, Elliot fucking Nightray, can sit with his lower half submerged, seatbelt on and none the worse for wear.

But, it bears repeating, it’s _Elliot Nightray._

Leo knows a little about the Nightrays, mostly that they’re number one on the list of families to avoid crossing, that they tend to have anti-Folk leanings, that their youngest son appeared to have been affected by some sedentary curse, but grew out of it, and that they were set up about two counties over from the university.

Learning that Elliot is genuinely, actually, a merman initially fills Leo with a keen sense of karmic intervention. Because Duke Nightray is a dick, and the legislation he puts forward in parliament has a tendency towards being disadvantageous, or downright cruel, to the Folk population.

However, sitting beside Elliot, who looks pale, miserable, and like he’s trying and failing to maintain a stiff upper lip, fills Leo with a stronger sense of pity. He looks awkward in the sea, trying to sit straight, but clearly having no idea what to do with the tail curled underneath him. He’d thanked Leo when he was being helped into the car, but hasn’t said a word since then.

But that’s fine. This will be terrible enough without the added insult of having to endure some blue-blooded lord’s offensive babble. If they can spend the entire drive in silence, Leo may actually survive the ordeal.

\--

Elliot is silent for about fourteen minutes.

He likes to _talk._ And he likes to talk with _volume._ He is _not_ a docile driving partner, and is, in fact, exceedingly obnoxious. Elliot is pigheaded, stubborn, prideful, and _loud_. He pushes every single one of Leo’s buttons, and after the first twenty minutes of driving, refuses to look even the slightest bit chagrined or ashamed at his position. He sits in the cold water, keeps his chin lifted, and tells Leo that he should take _this_ road, and _this_ detour and also Leo’s driving too slow, now he’s driving too fast, if you don’t change lanes you’ll miss the exit, blather, blather, blather.

He’s haughty and bossy and Leo wants to toss him out the window. Or gag him, at the very least.

He is also remarkably straightforward and honest. It’s startling, in fact. A mark of the upper class, a trait that Leo absolutely despises, is how much they lie. How much they scheme, and sneak, and do everything in their power to conceal their true motives and selves.

Pretending not to be a merman aside, Elliot is the most truthful person Leo has ever met. He is loud and obnoxious but only because he’s _blunt._ He doesn’t seem to know how to _not_ say exactly what he’s thinking, as soon as he thinks it, no matter how irritating or bossy or unnecessary the thought may be.

They get into shouting matches a lot. Leo refuses to admit to himself that he finds them entertaining.

It’s not all yelling, however. They both fall silent at points, and Leo starts playing one of his piano collections on the radio. He hadn’t realized that Elliot had been listening, enraptured, until the tape ends, and the young lord asks Leo the composer, the album name, and if there is sheet music available online?

Leo’s a little flabbergasted. He composed the pieces himself.

And _that_ opens a whole new can of worms. Elliot absolutely _badgers_ him with questions about his music. How long he’s been playing, what other things does he compose, what are his favourite pieces and scores, etc., etc. etc.

At some point along the way, they begin conversing almost amicably. They’re certainly not yelling at each other every other second, at the very least. But Leo refuses to admit that he’s enjoying Elliot’s company. No, that would be too far a stretch.

\--

The plane ride would have taken about an hour, but the drive will take all day. His mother’s probably having a fit.

Elliot hasn’t called them. He can’t quite bring himself to. He sent Vanessa a text, telling her that he’ll be late, he won’t be arriving until night, and don’t bother sending the chauffeur since he’s got a ride. He didn’t mention the tail. He didn’t mention Leo.

Elliot honestly can’t believe that Leo agreed to drive him. At the same time, he was enthralled by how little Leo wanted to help him. Elliot is rich, he’s powerful and influential, and doing him a favour could lead someone to a hefty reward, or a few high recommendations in all the right places. And Leo’s smart. It’s not that he didn’t realize what he could gain from helping Elliot. He just wasn’t interested.

Even after having agreed, all Leo seems to want is for it all to be over. He doesn’t want reward, he doesn’t want anything to do with Elliot, or his money.

It’s strangely refreshing.

Leo doesn’t trip all over himself trying to agree with everything Elliot says. He calls him an idiot, he calls him annoying and loud. He criticized Elliot’s directional skills and also his haircut. They argue about everything there is to argue about, and it’s the most genuine conversation Elliot has had in…what feels like the entirety of his life.

And Leo is a pianist, like him. A _good_ one. _And_ a composer. His playing is phenomenal, his pieces are beautiful, and Elliot finds himself increasingly uncomfortable with the idea of never seeing the other man again.

But they reach the Nightray estate, the sun sunk low beneath the horizon. Leo pulls up to the gates, Elliot bites the bullet and calls Gilbert, informs him of his situation. And in a flurry of activity that involves at _least_ ten servants all rushing to help Elliot from the car, Vanessa and his mother both flying out in their nightgowns, the former alternating between cursing him and crying, and Vincent silently sidling up to the driver’s side to pass Leo a thick envelope stuffed with bills, they part ways.

Just like that, they part ways.

\--

He returns the envelope of money via mail.

Leo does not like the upper class. Leo does not care about the upper class. Leo does not care even care about the middle class. Or the lower class. He doesn’t care about politics. He barely cares about Folk-human struggles. He doesn’t have the time or capacity to care for anything other than keeping himself alive from day to day. The orphanage bred anything else out of him.

Leo does not care about anything. He can’t afford to.

He knew Elliot for a day, and he vehemently refuses to entertain the notion that he enjoyed that day. That he enjoyed Elliot’s company. It’s just not something he can allow himself to do. It’s a part of the past now; there’s no use thinking back to it. They’re never going to see each other again.

A week later, he gets a letter.

It’s a little surprising, seeing as he lives in a car, but sending a direct letter isn’t difficult for a skilled sorcerer. Which, he assumes, the Nightrays have at their disposal. Since there’s a giant Nightray seal on the front of the letter.

Leo seriously considers just setting the thing on fire, without reading it. But curiousity gets the better of him, and he opens, and reads it.

The contents of the letter are, without a doubt, the most ridiculous thing he’s ever read. It’s improbable, unbelievable, and has him actually laughing.

It is also, in every way that counts, too good to be true.

\--

Elliot doesn’t think Leo will accept.

They knew each other for a day, and in that day, Leo made it clear how much he hated the upper class. So why would he agree to take up a position serving one? To be the personal assistant to a young, stuck up heir?

But Elliot hopes, because while he’d never admit it out loud, he very much needs someone like Leo right now.

There’s nothing to be done about his condition. Neither the potion nor the spell are effective anymore, and his tail is back for good. He’s stuck in a modified wheelchair to get around, he’s back to being the embarrassment of the family, and it’s all very, very public.

The scandal is just as bad as they all feared it would be. None of his associates from Lutwidge will speak to him.

It would be really, really nice to have someone around who didn’t care about any of this. About social standing. About reputation. Getting an assistant was Ernest’s idea. Someone to push his wheelchair around, to help him get into tubs of water, make sure he didn’t get dehydrated. A way for Elliot to not have to be coddled by his family, to have some chance at independence. Maybe even manage to attend school again. But Elliot doesn’t want someone who’s going to be falling all over themselves trying to please him. Someone who will just lower their head, and say ‘yes young master’. Something like that would turn his stomach.

But he doesn’t think Leo will accept.

It’s a pleasant surprise then, when he does.

“I want a clause in my contract,” says Leo firmly, “That states I’m not be blamed if I push your wheelchair down the stairs, so long as the event is immediately preceded by you being your usual levels of obnoxious and annoying.”

“Only if you get rid of those glasses,” counters Elliot, just as firm, “And cut your hair. You like you could nest birds in there.”  

Leo smiles, and continues pushing Elliot’s chair through the garden, a soft piano tune humming from the music player at his hip.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> hoo boy almost didn't make it with this one.  
> abrupt ending is abrupt! but honestly this was a shave and I'm ready for bed.


End file.
